Nanashi
by FruitySmell
Summary: She remembers being called Michiko once upon a time. She absolutely loathes the name to this day.


NOTES: I'm back on my original fandom. And it feels good.

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Her mother decided to name her Michiko.

When she was old enough to speak coherent sentences, she asked her mother why she was given that name and was awarded by a wistful sigh, her mother's eyes too lost in a haze of memories.

"Because you were the most beautiful child I had ever seen."

Then, her mother went back to work, leaving her mulling over what was said before coming to the conclusion that somehow her mother had lied to her.

After all, she hardly considered herself to be a child of beauty.

Born from a foreigner scum and a traitor of a mother, she was the constant target to bullies, sneers, and harsh whispers. It didn't help that her hair was the color of ripened wheat in the summer heat - an ocean of sunlight so exotic compared to the usual blacks and browns of her neighbors.

Her mother had tried countless times to soothe her when the judgemental stares and cruel words become unbearable, and she was thankful for such kindness. Yet, it never fully healed her. Not when her every waking moment was spent under the unmerciful scrutiny of everyone around her.

Her father, she had no recollection of. She learned early in her life not to ask, especially when she sees the light in her mother's eyes disappear at every mention of the man. All she knew was that he was a man unwelcomed by her country - a soldier of a war she knew nothing of but had affected her people so much that the mere thought of having a man like him in their community was unheard of.

With every negative energy thrown her way, she wished for a life worth living for. With every hiss she heard, she prayed for a better life. A life where she belonged, maybe even revered. A life spent in simplicity and comfort. A life so different from this girl called Michiko, whose name never befitted her circumstances.

A life where she was someone else.

And then, one day, she began to see.

A wisp at first, and then a blob of smoke as the days passed. These things were strange, almost with a mind if she could willingly admit it, and it took all of her willpower not to question what they were for fear of what the others would say.

Bad enough that foreign blood ran through her veins. Now she was hallucinating too?

She was just setting herself for more trouble.

Yet, try as she might, her newly-found ability grew stronger and the visions clearer. More real. More tangible. More human.

It scared her.

Spooked her enough, even, to divulge all of this to her mother one night, when the cicada sang in the muggy breeze of July, and to watch as her mother smiled grimly at her and told her she had such an active imagination.

It was then that it became clear to her what, exactly, was meant when her mother's eyes were clouded and the curve of her lips strained.

'_Demon_.' A voice hissed at her. A voice she knew so well as her mother's. '_I shouldn't have given birth to you. You bring nothing but misfortune_!''

It continued, this string of veiled insults, and it pushed her to tears. That night, she slept with her hands over her ears, her whole body covered in her blanket despite the nagging summer heat.

The days continued and the piercing voices multiplied.

She tried to hide at first, but concealing herself could only do much. The voices always found her, tore her to pieces with such savagery it rendered her completely broken. Her mother, as always, tried to placate her, but even her sweet words could not cover the venom in her heart.

She was a demon. Everyone else said so, including her mother.

She deserved nothing but death.

And maybe they were right, she thought. Maybe she should just die. She said this to the only ones she knew would not judge her so, despite her flaws.

She started bearing her heart to those who have moved on to the afterlife.

The dead said nothing. They just listened to her woes but did not move to comfort her. She supposed it was for the best. These blobs she had soon learned as souls could not exactly help except lend an ear.

Except this one.

This old soul who claimed to be a fisherman so long ago shared tall tales of a bygone era, when those of high spiritual energy like her were admired and sought by the masses. He told her of the Asakura, as well, and that one of them lived by the outskirts of Aomori.

A woman of great skill, the old fisherman nodded to himself. Perhaps, she can help you. Maybe even train you. Asakura Kino was one who possessed and sought strength. She was one of the few who would definitely help a child with potential like young Michiko.

And the old man shared more stories about ghosts and demons and elementals that by the end of his storytelling, she'd made her decision.

She was gone next morning, without a word of goodbye to her mother.

Like the fisherman promised her, Asakura Kino took her in without fanfare.

She was taught the basics of reading and writing by the old woman, whom she learned later on was blind. She began to understand the world around her, particularly the spiritual aspects of it, and she met more ghosts than people under the careful tutelage of the Asakura itako. When Kino asked her for her name, she shook her head.

She was grateful that the old woman did not pry.

On her fourth month living with Asakura Kino, the old woman beckoned her and handed her a rosary. It was a gift and a test, the old woman explained. A chance to see where her abilities start and end - to calculate what she can or cannot do based on her stamina.

She nodded and she tried her best. Because this was the only world she knew she belonged, the opportunity to be great in this world where most regard her as a stain. This was the only world that welcomed her with open arms.

This was her only chance of a new life.

And with that, she followed every teaching, every word, every gesture. She poured all what she had in that one summon.

By the time she was finished with her incantation, she was surrounded by wisps of a hundred spirits, all clamoring for her attention. It strained her, all these desires, and she huddled herself close, her hands clamped around her ears.

Asakura Kino waved all these souls away with a wrinkled hand and graced her with a smile.

The first real smile she had ever gotten.

"Very good." Kino gave her a pat, once. "We will resume your training tomorrow."

The old woman turned her back to her. A fleeting thought passed through her then.

_'Her ability is on par with Anna, maybe even greater if she dedicates herself to her training_.'

More memories flashed through her head. A young brunette with a sunny smile and a sword at hand, with ambitions so great they were overflowing. Her wishes to reunite with her family, her adventures with her samurai companion, her encounter with the powerful monks… Everything about her was exciting! This young girl soon fled her nest to accompany a gaggle of young Buddhist travelers, but continued to communicate with her teacher through letters and gifts.

She was amazing. A super star.

This Anna was everything that someone as insignificant as her could ever hope for.

She did not even notice that she had reached for her teacher's sleeve and gave it a tug. Her teacher regarded her with a simple nod.

"I like that." Her first words to Asakura Kino. The old woman turned to her, shocked but pleased.

"I like that." She repeated. "Anna. I like that name."

"I promise I'll be like her. So from now, will you please call me Anna too?"


End file.
